the play of "Hamlet" with Hamlet left out. For, whether we of the old country like it or not, the center of gravity of the race (so far as population is concerned) has definitely shifted, for some time past, to the North American continent. The first great step toward the political reunion of this vast AngloAmerican and Anglo-Asiatic world, toward any permanent federation, must be an effective working partnership between Great Britain and her eldest daughter-nation, the United States. No amount of gilt-gingerbread imperialism will cover up the ugly void caused by her absence from the family councils.

THE OLD AND THE NEW, OR MASTERS AND AMATEURS IN MODERN LITERATURE

BY EDWIN RIDLEY

It is not the badness of a novel that we should dread, but its overwrought interest. The weakest romance is not so stupefying as the lower forms of exciting literature, and the worst romance is not so corrupting as false history, false political essays, or false philosophy. But the best romance becomes dangerous if, by its excitement, it renders the ordinary course of life uninteresting and increases the morbid thirst for useless acquaintance with scenes in which we shall never be called upon to act.-Of Queens' Gardens, by John Ruskin.

THE

HE foregoing citation from one of the many precious passages which glisten and abound in the pages of John Ruskin's priceless works, should surely serve the purpose its selection was intended to serve in association with the views and comments we now propose to pass and ventilate regarding the subject of modern fiction and modern authors. Nor are we to be too sharply criticised in our turn, we trust, on account of any seeming incongruity of expression in the way of definition and heading of this paper. For is there not "the old " even in "modern fiction"? Cannot we, must we not, of necessity, speak of the masters and of their works even of less than one hundred years ago as "old"?

There are but three epochs in literature, as in the arts and sciences: the ancient, or classical-heathen, if you like, the mediæval, and the modern; and the last era is embracive of all that has been produced in the realm of letters since the close of the mediaval epoch. Therefore it follows

that in any discussion of, or treatise upon, what is designated as modern fiction, or modern literature, one is amply justified, when summarizing the relative merits of authors of several generations past and gone, whose lives and gifts were devoted to the great human cause which all true literature is, and was, intended to serve, in terming as "old" writers the "old masters"-in other words, "The Old" as compared with "The New," or later and living writers. So much, then, by way of introduction and self-justification. Let not the reader shiver with apprehension lest we should seek to impose upon him the burden of an unduly prolonged refrain to that purpose! We only desire to be plainly understood at the outset, and thus to save ourselves useless and provoking occasion to "explain what we mean" in the midst of our actual work and subject.

In order the better to reassure and modify the misgivings of our readers in such respect, let us furthermore vouchsafe the frank admission that it has been a matter of regret to ourselves that, in the course of our previous comments and reflections upon the names and writings of a number of more immediate authors, we should have indulged in so much harshness of expression. But the provocations were greatthe demands and restrictions on our patience were very trying. For we declare that but few of this abounding multitude of writers and innovators within the sacred precincts of fictional literature, in the present day at any rate, were ever "called " or have any right whatever to be regarded as men of letters. They were never "called " either by decree of Jove or by any worthy incentive, but rather have been actuated by idle caprice and sordid motives. The "itch of writing," the greed of gain and of cheap and easy notoriety, an inordinate lust for lucre, and inordinate vanity have been too often their main animating motives and incentives.

Nevertheless, it must be admitted, gladly and gratefully admitted, that a goodly few among this grievous, sweltering herd and brood of scribblers are, or have been, men and

women of excellent virtues and attainments, and that this more select circle amid the teeming, worthless mass should be properly regarded as one comprising a goodly number of earnest and worthy souls, justly animated by righteous and intelligent principles.

It remains, then, to pass in review the more obvious worth of the "elect" among the many, and then to compare the works of the more genuine authors of the present day with those of a prior generation, or of a generation or two gone by. We will content ourselves with only a limited number of examples, selected with much care and circumspection from among those who are to be consistently regarded as typical modern authors of our own generation. The following names may serve our purpose as

TYPES OF "THE NEW," OR PRESENT DAY, NOVELISTS:

Sir Walter Besant, Stanley Weyman, Robert Buchanan, Rudyard Kipling, George Meredith, Marion Crawford, George Macdonald, "Anthony Hope," Hall Caine, Thomas Hardy, Robert Barr, Conan Doyle, Julian Hawthorne, W. Dean Howells, Mary E. Wilkins, Miss Braddon, “John Strange Winter," Mrs. Humphry Ward, Miss Roberts, "Maxwell Gray," Marie Corelli, Rev. S. R. Crockett, Rider Haggard, David Christie Murray, W. E. Norris, "Ouida," and Beatrice Harraden.

In the selection of these names we have borne in mind their general, rather than their particular and relative, qualifications and capacities; and properly so, since these authors have been consistent and persistent grinders and compounders of essentially modern fiction. Their books and stories embody, and are symbolical of, whatever there is of actual good in the world to-day, in human relation, and they are the indelible types and records of all the prevailing characteristics, perversities, nonsensities, and inanity of the times to which they relate and of the people by whom they are read and held in esteem. Hence their representative

character and nomenclature. But these authors, or at least a considerable number of them, have not infrequently been quite outclassed, in their respective spheres, by the occasional appearance and superior gifts and attainments of an author who, while incapable, apparently, of sustained effort and fruition in like relation, has all at once surprised and captured the strongholds of the public fancy and sentiment by the magnetism of a single novel! Authors of this variety are, therefore, to be classed as transient lights, whose rays are spent, for most part, after the manner of solitary stars in the twilight of the heavens, with more or less brilliancy and effectiveness on the imaginations of those who love and observe them, and are to be accordingly regarded as

LONE STARS IN "THE NEW" LITERARY FIRMAMENT:

Such are or were-Lew Wallace, Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe, Henry Sienkiewicz, R. L. Stevenson, "Lewis Carroll," Eugene Sue, and Victor Hugo; and, shall we include among these the name of-Winston Churchill? Now these authors, while several, or nearly all of them, have written a number of books each, have established their claims as writers of repute and public esteem upon the strength of a single novel. "Ben Hur" founded the reputation of Lew Wallace; "Uncle Tom's Cabin," that of Mrs. Stowe; "Alice in Wonderland," Lewis Carroll's; "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde," Stevenson's; "The Wandering Jew," Eugene Sue's; "Les Miserables"-in our estimation, at least-Victor Hugo's; and "Richard Carvel," Winston Churchill's. Whatever they have written since has been comparatively inane and worthless; their names are synonymous only with those of the respective books upon which their fame was founded and grounded.

It therefore follows that it would be misleading and futile to group these authors along with the first designated class of mere representative and persistently productive compounders of modern fiction. They are only to be con